Happy Birthday, Roggy
by Rent-Fanfictions
Summary: At seventeen years old, Roger hasn't ever had a good birthday before. Mark is about to learn why. Teen!Mark/Roger.


**Hello, all! how's everyone been?**

**I apologize for the fact that ive pretty much fallen off the face of the earth on here, I promise it's not intentional. School is creeping up on my sorry ass, and the fact im taking a shit ton of AP classes this year is gonna mean im gonna have less and less time to do what I _actually _enjoy, and that's write.**

**Anyway, all depressing news aside, this is a feelsy teen!marker fic I wrote for my wonderful Marky's birthday. I really hope they like it, and I figured id post it here too for you guys to enjoy! reviews, please? I poured my heart into this one.**

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Sixteen year old Mark Cohen never really has a lot on his mind, save for Roger, and what interesting things he can film next. He's just starting out as an ameture filmmaker, if you could call it that, ever since his grandfather gave him his old camera.

He points it at anything and everything, especially Roger. His best friend always grumbles, and pushes it away, but Mark always finds a way to film when he's not looking. This morning, he waits at his locker. He smiles a little as he sees the taller boy in question shuffle over, still in his pajamas, looking like a zombie.

"Roggy, you're almost late." Mark reminds, moving over to him. "Did you miss the bus again?"

"Overslept…" he grunts. The smaller boy can't help but smile.

"You want me to help you get ready, sleepy?"

The taller boy says nothing, his eyes falling closed again. Mark sighs.

"I'll take that as a yes." he reached into his locker, pulling out a tube of Roger's hair gel, and a comb. This wasn't the first time he's had to do this. "Did you remember to brush your teeth at least?"

Roger gave a small nod. Mark smirked.

"Good boy." he reached out two gel filled hands, working the product through Roger's scalp. The taller boy smiled, leaning into his touch. He always loved when Mark, or anyone, played with his hair. Roger reminded Mark of a cat most times, more than anything else.

Mark sighed, combing the gel through, and beginning to spike his friend's white-blond tufts.

"You're lucky I love you this much, yeah? I don't think anyone else would do this for you." He sighed as Roger was still half asleep. He leaned into his bag, taking out an ice filled water bottle. "Roggy? it's time to wake up… come on, don't make me use step two."

Roger said nothing, so Mark took the cap off, and squirted the cold liquid right into his boyfriend's face. Roger jumped, his vibrant green eyes shooting open. He glared at Mark, wiping his face on the smaller boy's shirt.

"Hey! knock it off! Roger!" Mark yelped, squirming. He was cut off as Roger pulled him into a kiss. He blushed furiously, returning it until Roger broke away, pulling some eyeliner out of his pocket, and using Mark's locker mirror to put it on.

"I gotta admit, it does make you look handsome." Mark said, winking. Roger made sure no teachers were looking, and grabbed Mark's ass, causing the albino the blush brightly again, and bury his face in Roger's chest.

"Did you even do your homework?" He asked the broody teenager in front of him. Roger shrugged.

"I wasn't feeling up to it."

"Roger…"

"Mark."

"Take mine. I can afford a zero, you can't."

"No."

"Rog…" his tone was dangerous.

"Fine." he pulled the smaller blond into another kiss before he sighed. Mark laced their hands together as they walked. Nobody would dare attack Mark, knowing Roger's fiery temper well. Soon, they reached Mark's first period, biology, and Roger hugged him for a long time before letting him go.

"Thanks for taking care of me…" he murmured, and Mark smiled at him.

"It's my job, baby. You know I love you." Roger watched him go sadly, making his way to his own class.

At least that made one person in his life who did.

At the end of the day, he and Mark were walking home together. Mark held Roger's hand tightly, leaning into him, telling him all about what he did in his film studies class that day. Roger listened half heartedly, forcing a smile, and looking interested. However, deep down, he had a profound feeling of dread.

He didn't want to go home.

He insisted on taking Mark home first, but the filmmaker shook his head, wanting to walk Rog home this time. Roger had no choice but to comply as they moved closer towards the taller blond's house.

The sight that greeted Roger made him turn pale.

His father stood on the porch, sneering at him, a beer bottle in his hand. He was wasted. Mark looked from Roger's father to Roger, whining a little.

"There you are, boy!" his father yelled, and Roger kept a steady face, though he was terrified. The last time his father came home, he was nearly killed.

"Happy birthday, Roger!" he screamed, and Roger shut his eyes tight, clenching his fists at his sides. Mark's eyes went wide. He had no idea Roger's birthday was _today. _The rocker never even mentioned it, and whenever he asked, the subject was changed. "Why don't you come on in!? I got a present for ya! we didn't finish what I started last time!" he laughed. Roger's father was nothing short of an evil man.

Mark grabbed his arm tightly.

"Rog… don't."

"If I don't go in there, he's gonna take it out on my mom instead…" Mark never understood why Roger stood up for his mom so much. She hated him, and when she wasn't wasted, screamed at him for being such an awful son. However, that was just who Roger was. Loyal, willing to protect anyone somewhat close to him at any cost. Roger patted Mark's shoulder reassuringly.

"Roggy…" he whispered.

"I'll be fine…" he said, though he didn't even believe it himself. "Get yourself home."

Mark watched helplessly as Roger walked towards his father. He yelped as Roger's father broke the beer bottle over Roger's head, causing the teenager to fall to the ground with a groan of agony.

"ROGER!" he screamed, about to run for him, when Roger's father glared at him.

"Off my property before I get my rifle!" Mark backed away, tears in his eyes as Roger's father picked up his boyfriend by his shirt, and threw him inside, slamming the door behind them.

That night, Mark lay awake, nearly sick with worry. He couldn't get the image of Roger collapsing onto the porch out of his mind. He hated Roger's father, hated him with more passion than he could describe. He fed Roger lies, convinced him he was worth nothing, and hurt him. The last time he came over, Roger ended up in the hospital, with Mark crying at his bedside, because the doctors were sure he wouldn't make it through the night.

Roger's mother only added fuel to the fire. Whenever she wasn't screaming at Roger, she was screaming at Roger's father, causing the taller boy to be kept up for hours. It suddenly made sense to him. No wonder the poor boy was half asleep. His parents didn't make him getting rest for school any easier.

Anytime Roger would sleep over Mark's house, he would always pass out early, astounded by how quiet his house was. Mark never really understood it until now. He knew now why Roger always had his earbuds of his mp3 player in. He was trying to block out the violent screaming, the venom spitting, the mother and father haunting him day and night, filling his mind with toxic lies, and leaving him screaming whenever he did manage to sleep with terrifying nightmares.

Mark was sure that if he looked up the definition of "Tortured soul" in the dictionary, Roger's picture would be staring back at him.

The next morning, he felt nauseous as he pulled his jacket on, and caught the bus. He prayed to whatever god he could think of that Roger would be okay. He had almost lost him once, he couldn't lose him again.

As he walked into school, Roger wasn't at his locker. He blinked back tears as he opened it, gathering his things, and waiting with his arms crossed. He wasn't going anywhere until he knew whether his boyfriend was okay or not.

Ten minutes later, he was about to break down, his face in his hands, when something hitting the locker beside him made him look up.

He gasped a little as he saw Roger. The taller boy was beyond out of it. He was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he was trembling. His shirt was covered in blood, and vomit. His hair was messy, and his face was covered in bruises and cuts, one of his eyes black. His arms were all cut up and bruised as well. He gazed at Mark with half closed, glassy eyes. He stumbled a little. He was drunk.

"Oh, Roger…" Mark said, beginning to cry, and pulling him against him. Roger couldn't even lift his arms, his head resting on Mark's shoulder as he slumped against him. "Come on… we're skipping…"

Roger said nothing as Mark grabbed one of his gym shirts, and led Roger out of school when no teachers were looking. They soon came to their favorite hangout spot, an abandoned house a few blocks away.

Mark managed to get Roger inside, and the tall boy collapsed on the floor, his eyes closing. Mark began to cry.

"R-Roger… oh… oh god, Rog… please sit up… _please_…" he managed to tug the musician into a sitting position, propping him against the wall, and taking out his first aid kit, which he couldn't have been more fortunate to own.

He tugged Roger's awfully messy shirt off, and gasped as he saw how discolored, and bruised Roger's torso was. It was obvious he had some broken ribs. He took out some gauze bandages, and began to wrap them around his torso, making sure they were tight enough to help the ribs heal properly.

He cleaned out all of the other cuts and wounds, and made sure to disinfect them. When all was said and done, he put one of his baggy gym shirts on his boyfriend, which fit him well, considering how much bigger he was.

Roger grumbled incoherently, and leaned over, puking. Mark sighed, helping him to a new area, and laying him down on his stomach, tucking his scarf under his head, and taking his hand.

"Sleep it off baby, shhh… i'm here…" Mark whispered, petting his hair. It wasn't long before Roger was passed out cold.

A few hours later, Mark was pacing. Roger still hadn't woken up yet. What if Roger never woke up? tears filled his eyes once more. Roger had to be okay. He _had _to be.

A loud groan snapped him from his thoughts.

"Mark?"

Color exploded back into his world as he turned around, and Roger stood there, watching him with groggy eyes.

"Rog!" Mark yelled, and at once, he was crushing his boyfriend in a warm embrace. Roger stumbled a little, but soon returned it, wincing a little at the pain of Mark squeezing him. Mark sobbed into the crook of his neck.

"You're okay…." he whined "You're _okay…_" Roger kissed his head. "I love you s-so much… I didn't wanna leave you… I s-saw what he did… R-oger…" he choked, grabbing fistfulls of Roger's shirt. Roger rubbed his back.

Soon, the filmmaker was calm again, and watched as Roger sank to the ground, staring at nothing. He smiled a little, grabbing his bag.

"While you were out… I… I bought you something…" Roger quirked a brow, rubbing his eyes a bit as Mark pulled a chocolate cake out of it, putting it in Roger's lap. Chocolate was his favorite. He stared at it. "H-happy birthday…"

To his surprise, Roger suddenly choked out a sob. It was a sound so rarely heard from the usually cold, and stoic boy, that neither of them knew what to do.

Mark instantly moved the cake aside, and took Roger into his arms.

"I shouldn't have been born at all…" he spat, crying into Mark's chest. "He said it h-himself…"

Mark rubbed his back. "Roggy? tell me everything."

Roger choked on another sob. "I don't like birthdays, because they remind me where I came from… h-him…" he began to tremble again. "Y'know what my birthday present was? a baseball bat…. by the end of the night, it was splinters… he hit me so many times… it fucking b-roke…" he whined. "S-o… I left in the middle of the n-ight… and stole an 18 p-ack… from the store… an-d d-drank it a-all.. so it wouldnt h-urt as much…"

Mark felt his heart break as he listened to his boyfriend. He held him tighter.

"Every year… h-e c-comes home… j-just so he c-an… h-hurt me a-again…" he paused. "I dunno why I even bother existing anymore…. I got nobody left…" he whined. "If I died, who would give a shit? you would get over it… I ain't got nobody… I'm _nothing_… i'm… i'm alone…"

Mark continued to comfort and console him as his sobbing turned to pained wails. He hadn't cried for so long, that when he started, he couldn't stop.

"Roger, I would care. Baby, I wouldn't just get over it. I would cry for weeks and weeks, because I love you so much, and I can't do this without you." he started stroking Roger's hair. "You're coming with me to New York. We're gonna have a great life together there, hm? and he won't _ever _hurt you again…"

Roger clung to him, crying harder.

Two hours later, when Roger had finally calmed down, he and Mark had ate the whole cake by themselves. Roger lay down, smiling a little with a full stomach, Mark cuddled against him. The small man covered his face and neck in gentle kisses, and began playing with his hair. Roger was smiling so wide, he looked like a mad man. He was loving all the attention.

"I love you, Roggy. Happy Birthday."

It wasn't much, but it was a start. From then on, Mark always made sure to greet Roger with long hugs, and rough kisses on his special day, and made him a cake each year, with a long, handwritten letter so he wouldn't ever forget how much a certain teenager loved him.

Healing takes a long time, but Mark was willing to help forever.


End file.
